[He calls babies cubs and pups interchangeably, it's a thing he picked up from Laura. He's not really sure why she started it, as Lydia so logically points out every now and then, cubs are a large cat thing and pups are a large dog thing, but he doesn't want to train himself out of it now, because it's something left from his sister, even if it's just a silly little quirk he's got. He doesn't have much of Laura left these days. (He hopes Lydia understands that when said cub/pups come along, he's going to be lobbying hard to name them things like Talia, Laura, Michael, David. His whole family is dead, but he wants them to live on somehow.)

He sighs and lets her shove send him back out of her arms and up onto his feet, stretching enough as he stands to make his shirt ride up and bunch a little under his armpits so that he has to struggle with it as he walks back to her room to collect Scott.] Absolutely not! [he calls back over his shoulder, shaking his head. No way is he allowing Poodle anything into his house. He had to put up with Prada for years before the poor little dog died, nothing that fluffy or obnoxiously twee is setting foot in his house ever again.

He croons softly to little baby Scott as he lifts him out of his play pen, pressing a kiss to a warm little forehead before tucking him against his chest.] Hey there, little man. Mommy and Daddy are going to be here soon, it's time to get up. [Derek has apparently never cared much about his image when it comes to babies in general and Scott in particular; the idea of bitter, angry Derek Hale from six years ago walking around with a little baby clinging to the front of his shirt as he hums quietly is almost laughable. And yet here he is, one hand tucked under a diapered baby butt, the other cupping Scott's fuzzy little head as he yawns and makes unhappy noises.] I know, buddy. You're tired, I know. It's okay, you'll be home soon.